Ignite and Extinguish (revamp)
by kaljara
Summary: Seraphina Sinclair came back to Beacon Hills with every intention to stay in the shadows. But after a year of things going (semi) smoothly, she is thrust back into the supernatural when she meets the McCall pack. And with an alpha pack and a deadly killer on the loose, Sera must come to terms with the fire and betrayal in her past in order to save a future she never imagined. S3A
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! You might be familiar with this story, or maybe you're new. Either way, I'm glad you found it. I decided recently to do a revamp of Ignite and Extinguish because it holds such a special place in my heart. When I started writing the original story in early 2013, I had no idea what kind of reception it would get. It was my first fanfiction (and to this date the only multi-chaptered fic I've finished!), and I was worried about putting it (and myself) out there. But people proved to be truly lovely and gave this story so much love and support, and for that, I'm incredibly grateful. The original Ignite and Extinguish will remain up, with all of its glorious mistakes, for those who would like to see the difference between the two. This revamp is a tribute to Teen Wolf, which is now ending, and the amazing people who loved the original story with its cheesy lines, unedited chapters, and all. ~Harley**

Beacon Hills was boringly average in almost every sense of the word. It was a tidy, safe little town located in the northern part of California, central enough that people had a vague idea of its whereabouts, but secluded enough that it never held anyone's interest for long. To the normal residents of Beacon Hills, the town was a cozy place to call home. It didn't occur to them that there were odd, even dangerous, things that lurked in the shadows at nighttime. They didn't know anything about the supernatural creatures that lived among them.

And honestly, it was better that way.

The only people that had supernatural ties were the Hales, and they were a private sort of family, quietly polite but always very reserved. In a sense, it was very right of them to be. The Hales were werewolves, the only local pack around, and they kept to themselves for fear of their secret being discovered.

Joseph Hale and his younger brother, Peter, had lived in Beacon Hills since they were children. Their parents had stumbled upon the town by accident, but they had taken a liking to it almost immediately. They wanted their family to stay far away from the outside world in order to form a strong and secure pack. The elder Hales were wise for this, and their sons stayed in the town where they were born, wanting to honor their parents' wishes.

However, Joe Hale couldn't follow the most sacred rule that his parents had set- stay away from humans. He had been fascinated by the way they lived. But he had been even more fascinated by a human girl by the name of Talia Leven. She was beautiful, dark-haired and dark eyed, and she had stolen his heart after only a year. Joe had told her everything, much to his parents' displeasure. They didn't understand their oldest son's interest in the human girl, and neither did Peter. He often questioned Joe about the girl, afraid that she would one day hurt him.

Talia had known this, and she knew that if she ever wanted to accepted into the Hale family, she had to do the only thing that would make their relationship right- she had to receive the bite to become a werewolf. Joe had agreed to the suggestion whole-heartedly, and after they were married, they started a family.

Joe and Talia had five children: Laura, Derek, Seraphina, Collin, and Libby. Laura was the oldest at age eighteen, and she was wild and beautiful and dangerous. She had long, dark tresses and captivating golden-green eyes that she had inherited from her father. Laura was a charmer; she had a different boy following her around every day, but she never showed much interest in them, or at least, not as much interest as they showed in her. As a senior at Beacon Hills High, Laura had a surprising knack for schoolwork. She could party all night long with the football team, but if she had a test the next morning, she would ace it without a doubt. And though Laura didn't care much for humans, she cared for her family with all of her heart; she was very careful to keep the Hale family secret…although that was the only thing she was careful with.

Derek was their second child, and he was very different from his older sister. It was true that they looked the same, with thick dark hair and greenish-gold eyes, but Derek made it known that he was not at all like Laura. He was thoughtful and quiet, but he was quick to laugh and easy to please. He didn't mind humans. In fact, the sixteen-year-old boy was smitten with one. Her name was Kate Argent, a girl who was new to the area, and Derek had fallen madly in love with her almost immediately. His relationship with Kate was a hard one, however, because of their age difference. Kate was twenty-two, and technically, it was illegal for them to date, but they didn't let that stop them. Derek was very cautious when his parents asked about the girl he was seeing. He always gave them vague answers, steering clear of prying conversations. Derek also didn't mention how he had trusted Kate with their secret, knowing that she would never tell a soul.

The middle child was eleven-year-old Seraphina, and much like Derek, she was quiet and calm, constantly observing the world around her. She was very in touch with other people's emotions- sometimes she even claimed that she could taste them, much to her parents' amusement. Seraphina was often seen with her nose tucked firmly in a book, and though she laughed and played with her siblings, she was easily the most reserved in the group. She had a special fondness for Kate, though, who Derek had introduced her to only a few days after they started dating. Kate called her 'squirt' and ruffled her short, dark waves playfully every time she came over. Seraphina liked the way Kate walked- it was graceful and effortless, which amused the young Hale girl because Kate was only a human. Seraphina's green eyes were wide and trusting when they were focused on the Argent woman, and she thought of Kate as another sister.

The fourth Hale child was Collin, who differed from his siblings in many ways. Collin was loud and constantly had to be moving. The eight-year-old had a passion for pranking people, and he normally gave everyone around him a hard time. His mischievous nature sometimes annoyed the others, but to Laura, it was endearing. "He's just being a kid," she would laugh when Derek found his basketball gear on the roof or Libby discovered that her dolls had mysteriously been thrown in the toilet. Collin took Laura's indifference as invitation to continue his reign of terror, and Mr. and Mrs. Hale had little to say about it, either. Collin was a free spirit, they said, too willful to be tamed. His unruly blonde hair and gray-blue eyes were an anomaly themselves, and they were further proof that Collin would not settle for being average in any way.

Libby was the smallest and the youngest Hale, and she took advantage of that every chance she had. With her round face, wide green-yellow eyes, springy caramel-colored ringlets, and bright, cherubic smile, she resembled an angel much more than she did a werewolf. She wasn't timid in the slightest; when it came to talking, Libby was the center of attention. The six-year-old had a very loud voice for such a small girl. And she had a personality to match it. Libby was bossy and somewhat of a tattle-tale; the other children often rolled their eyes when Libby started whining about not getting her way. She also had a tendency to blurt important things out at the most inconvenient moments, and that was part of the reason why the Hales home-schooled their children until they reached high school. They didn't want to risk the werewolf secret being blown wide open, and they knew with Libby around humans, it was always a possibility.

Together, the Hales were very hard-working citizens: Joe worked for a local construction company and Talia was a waitress at the local diner. Even Laura had a part-time job at the movie store downtown. Though their decision to work was just a ploy to draw attention away from the fortune that let them run the Hale Manor- the house Joe and Peter's parents had left to them-with ease. The house was enormous, and even with five children running about, it wasn't nearly full. Joe took that into stride, and he invited Peter, who had been living in a small apartment on the other side of town, to move in with them. Peter insisted on home-schooling Libby, Collin, and Seraphina as payment, and quickly accepted the offer to move into the basement of the large house.

Shortly after Peter moved in, Talia received an alarming call from her baby sister, Amelia. Amelia's husband had abandoned her and her two children, leaving them with no money in their bank account and nowhere to stay. Talia quickly suggested that Amelia and her two children, eight-year-old twins Zoe and Zach, move into the Hale house. Amelia, distraught, had declined the offer at first, but after a few days, she broke down and agreed. The Leven children were soon living right alongside the Hale kids, and though Zoe and Zach were humans, they were accepted into the pack immediately. Talia had told Amelia about what she had become the day after she and Joe had been married, so Amelia had no problem with the strange customs that the Hales had; she watched as the Hale kids romped in the yard with their claws extended, batting playful at each other. She even taught Zoe and Zach how to fight, and had them practice with their cousins regularly.

Deep in the woods, the Hale house was a perfect place for the Hale and Leven children to grow up away from the prying eyes of the world. They were as safe as could be, guarded by Joe and Talia, their alphas, and the rest of the adults. They never could have imagined that one person, a person who they had considered a friend, would rip everything away from them. Kate Argent had never seemed like a threat. She was sarcastic and witty, but she wasn't cruel or callous. The Hales thought she had a good heart; Kate would often be found reading to Libby under the shady weeping willow in the back yard or letting Seraphina messily braid her dirty blond hair down her back. She was the love of Derek's life, though he was six years younger than her. Derek never would have guessed that the girl he kissed, the girl he sometimes held in his arms late at night, the girl he loved, was a Hunter. No one knew that Kate was a killer who despised werewolves. No one knew that her father, Gerard, had sent her to scope out local areas and make sure the werewolves there weren't causing any trouble. No one could have possibly known that Kate had assembled a group of humans that were willing to murder for profit, or that she had decided burning filthy werewolves was an acceptable excuse for breaking the Hunters' Code.

The day of the fire dawned bright and sunny. Derek and Laura departed for school, groaning when their mother insisted that they walk. "It's a beautiful morning," Talia scolded. "And I might want the car today. We're probably going to take the kids to the park." The older Hales grumbled as they left, but Laura couldn't help but roll her eyes and blow her mother a kiss on the way out the door. Derek muttered a goodbye, but he was down the steps before Talia could catch up to him. She had shrugged the issue off- Derek could be moody at times, and she had learned to accept that. After all, she didn't want anything to ruin the day she had planned out for her family. It was bound to be a good day; both she, Joe, and Amelia had the day off, much to everyone's delight. Talia made pancakes for the kids, and then decided she would take a well-deserved nap before they went anywhere.

The day was perfect. Or at least, for a while it was.

The sun was drifting down over the horizon when Kate stepped out of her truck, which she had parked only a few feet away. No one heard her coming as she slipped stealthily through the woods, the misfits she had recruited following closely behind her. The Hales didn't notice when Kate began to pour gas on their back porch, smirking as it drenched the wood. She pulled a match from her pocket and lit it without a second thought. She didn't care that there were humans inside the Hale house; she had watched in secret disgust as Zoe and Zach frolicked with the filthy creatures they called their cousins. As far as Kate was concerned, they were as much a part of the pack as any of the other mutts, and that meant that they, too, had to die. There was no emotion on Kate's face when she threw the match on the porch and watched it ignite.

The fire burned fast and bright. Kate's lackeys busted in window after window, pouring in gasoline and throwing in matches to help the flames. Kate could hear screams from inside, bloody, heart-wrenching screams, but she didn't feel any remorse in the hollow void that was her heart. She only felt a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that she was ridding the world of dangerous creatures.

Darkness was just starting to settle over Beacon Hills when the smoke began to rise into the sky. Kate was nervous about staying too long- she knew there weren't any neighbors for miles, but someone was bound to see the smoke eventually. She just wanted to stay long enough to make sure the wolves died. She would deal with Laura and Derek at a later date; Kate wanted to rub Derek's stupidity in his face, but she didn't want to be caught, so she would lie low for a while until the buzz about the arson became a distant memory.

Or that was the plan, at least, until Kate turned around and came face to face with something she wasn't expecting.

There, not even ten feet away, Kate spotted a person through the smoke. They were covered in soot and ash, but Kate knew who it was without a doubt-she knew that mop of loose curls anywhere, even though the ends of the girl's hair were smoldering. Seraphina. The child stared at Kate with wide, horrified eyes, holding her side tightly with her hands. How she managed to escape, Kate didn't know. A snarl found its way to her lips as she turned back to the two goons behind her, ordering them to kill the girl.

"What girl?" one of them questioned anxiously. Annoyed, Kate turned around and pointed to the spot where Seraphina was standing only to find it empty. Kate blinked, startled, and peered around the area, looking for any trace of the injured wolf pup. But she was gone, as though perhaps she hadn't even been there in the first place. Kate shook her head, angry that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Seraphina had adored Kate, and so maybe it was guilt eating her insides for murdering the girl. She couldn't have actually have seen her- there was no way Seraphina could have escaped with every exit blocked. There was no way she was still alive.

In the distance, Kate heard sirens blaring. She jerked around and ran for her truck, forgetting about her hallucination for the moment. Her accomplices jumped into the back, and together they peeled out of the leaf-strewn driveway, kicking up gravel as they went. Kate dropped off the men at the edge of town, but she didn't stick around. She drove out of Beacon Hills like a bat out of hell, and no one stopped her. She was free to go wherever she pleased, and with that in mind, she eased up behind the steering wheel.

Kate didn't know that in the woods miles away from her, fire trucks and paramedics were pulling up alongside the Hale house, trying to get the fire under control. She didn't know that in a few hours, Derek and Laura Hale would arrive at the charred skeleton of what used to be their home, and a police officer named Sheriff Stilinski would hold onto both of the children as they screamed and cried and tried to throw themselves at the wreckage, searching for their family. She didn't know-no one knew- that deep in the woods, running in the opposite direction that Kate was driving, there was a little girl.

She was wearing ragged clothes, her dark hair was in knots, and her side was badly burned, but she kept running. She ran even as blood dripped into her eyes, even as her wounds started to heal themselves, even though she was leaving the only place she had ever known. She ran with all the strength she had left in her body, and when she finally stopped, she was in a different state, lying on someone's porch. That was when it hit her, all at once. She saw Kate's face bathed in the glow of the fire, a packet of matches in her hand. She heard the screams of her family, felt their terror suffocating her. She felt the sorrow and pain crush her, destroy her, in that very minute, because she knew she could never go back. If she did, Kate would be there, waiting to finish the job that she had already started. The little girl knew that some things could not be undone, and this was one of them. She knew with all her heart-the broken and bleeding mess that it was- that Seraphina Hale had died in that fire along with her family. And when she accepted that, there was no more screaming or fire or heat. There was only darkness, and it swallowed her whole, giving her the peace she needed to survive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Seat Swap**

 _Seraphina Sinclair_. I couldn't get over the name, _my_ name, written at the top of the paper in front of me. What teacher assigned seats by placing already-labeled papers on the desks? I blew a frustrated breath out from between pursed lips. I half-considered asking Mr. Harris what grade he thought we were in, but then immediately thought better of it. I'd heard horror stories of his bitter sarcasm and hatred for his students—there was no reason to put a target on my back before we even took attendance.

Instead, I focused my attention on scanning the tiny classroom; students were slowly filing in, mumbling and moaning about how their summer has passed too quickly. I honestly couldn't have agreed more. Even though I had spent the majority of my summer holed up in my one room apartment with nothing to keep me company but the hum of the air conditioner, summer vacation had been a safe haven for me. Junior year loomed ahead, as dismal and lonely as last year had been.

Each student rolled their eyes at the sight of the labeled papers, but they said nothing about it as they sank down into their seats and tried not to look thoroughly miserable. I ducked my head and hid my face behind my dark waves to avoid making eye contact with anyone.

That was what it meant to be a shadow. You didn't draw attention to yourself, and you never talked to anyone without them talking to you first. It wasn't like I didn't long for someone who I could trust—it was simply that it was far too dangerous for me to confide in anyone. No one here knew who I really was, and I intended to keep it that way. Dangerous things happened when you delved into the past. I couldn't risk making a friend, even though I had been in Beacon Hills for over a year now. I couldn't risk their life, or mine.

Mr. Harris slipped into the room like an after-thought, briskly closing the classroom door before he took his spot at the board. He wrote his name in an illegible scrawl, taking his time to let each letter scrape like a nail scraping on the chalkboard's surface. I nearly sighed in relief when he finally decided to face us. Harris was a pale and dark-haired, his thick dark rimmed glasses only adding to his intensity. His mouth had a sour set to it, as though the only smiling he did was when he gave a student detention. "Quiet down," he commanded, voice dry. The class did as they were told, nearly falling completely silent. "Now," said Harris, carefully striding up and down the aisles. "As you probably have realized, this is Chemistry II, not preschool. I will not tolerate any acting out or back-talk; you will immediately receive detention if either occur."

I already hated this class. I hadn't ever been especially good at science anyway, but watching Harris strut around the room liked he was an arrogant god among mortals really rubbed me the wrong way. I wanted to let a growl escape from behind my gritted teeth, but I clamped my mouth shut and held it in. There was no use in getting angry; after all, Chem II was my first class of the day. My first day as a junior at Beacon Hills High had been going off without a hitch until this asshole had strode into the room.

I slumped down in my seat, pulling _A Tale of Two Cities_ from my messenger bag and cracking it open. I tried to block out Harris' monotone speech, tried my hardest to block out the sight of the bland, colorless room around me. I wanted to sink into my book, literally and figuratively. Reading had always been my escape, ever since I was a little girl, but in the past few years, it had been essential for my survival. Some days, when the memories flashed vividly in my mind, I picked up a book and read the whole thing in a few hours. I enjoyed being someone else, even though it was simple a figment of my imagination. In books, the protagonist almost always escaped their monsters. I thought that maybe one day, if I tried hard enough, I would finally be able to escape mine.

My daydream shattered when Harris slapped a hand down on my desk. My heart seized in my chest before stuttering along at an alarmed staccato. Harris glared down at me with beady eyes, and I let my book fall closed, swallowing nervously. "Did you, by chance, here anything I just said?" he asked in a deadly voice.

I blinked slowly and attempted to slow my heart rate. Anger was already pooling into my veins, but I managed to shake my head to confirm his assumption. "I see," Harris said, leaning over my desk. "Well, Miss…" He glanced at my warm-up sheet, "Sinclair, I believe that if you hadn't been so rudely reading while I was giving directions, you might have caught a bit of what I was saying." His lip was curled in distaste. "It was something along the lines of, 'Students will sit in the seat that I assign to them: no exceptions'." Harris's glare confused me.

"But… I'm sitting in the right seat," I told him, eyebrows furrowing. "This is where my paper was." I held up my paper to prove my point.

Harris frowned and snatched my paper from my hands. "While that is exceptionally cute, Miss Sinclair, you'll have to excuse me for not finding this funny." I said nothing, because in all honesty, I had no idea what the hell Harris was talking about. "I did not put your paper here. In fact, you aren't supposed to be in the front row at all." _Good,_ is what I wanted to snap. _I didn't want to sit in the first seat anyway. "_ Actually, you aren't even supposed to be in this row. Miss Sinclair, I realize that you've never had me before as a teacher, but I'd like to inform you that though I am sometimes forgetful, I distinctly remember placing you on the _opposite side_ of the room. And though I am sometimes forgetful, I am not stupid." Harris's glare becomes harsher, if possible. "You'll be doing yourself a favor if you learn that now."

My cheeks flushed crimson. No matter what Harris was accusing me of, I hadn't switched seats. He gave me a cold smile and said, "Now if you'll be so kind, I believe Mr. Stilinski would like to sit down sometime today."

My hands shaking, I glanced over at the boy standing behind Mr. Harris. He was tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and wide caramel eyes. His hair, which had probably been stylishly gelled a few minutes before, was sticking up in all directions from where he kept grabbing fistfuls of it, looking at me in distress. He wore a faded red T-shirt, dark-washed jeans, and a new pair of black Converse, but his outfit wasn't what made me stare at him.

It was his name. His name, which I had heard murmured frequently over the past year, was what made me freeze. Dread welled in my chest. I had never seen him up close, but I had watched the year unfold from a distance, and I knew that the boy in front of me was inextricably linked to all of the mysterious occurrences. I knew that his best friend was the catalyst for all the chaotic things that had happened in Beacon Hills this past year. I knew that Stiles Stilinski was dangerous to associate with. And he was staring right at me.

"Sometime today, Miss Sinclair," Harris sneered. I was tempted to flip him the bird, but I quickly stifled the impulse. Gathering all my stuff and shoving it in my bag, I brushed by Harris and Stiles without a word. My cheeks were still red; I could feel them burning as I took my rightful seat in the very back of the room. Several students were snickering at me, but I tried my best to ignore them. I had gone a year without incident, and then something like this happened. I glowered at the desk I sat in, hearing every noise, every heartbeat, as I tried to direct my anger elsewhere.

I hadn't tried to switch my seat. I wanted to believe Harris was just being a jerk, but something in my gut told me otherwise. I took a deep, cleansing breath and closed my eyes. Emotions crowded around me, hanging on the tip of my tongue. They were bitter, mostly—no one enjoyed Harris's class. But there was one that was lighter, teasingly sweet. My eyes flew open and I turned in the direction of the emotion, or more accurately, the person who was sitting diagonal to me. He was muscularly built, and he had sandy blond hair and brown eyes that were almost black. His smirk was directed right at me. It was a lazy thing, that smile, and it infuriated me more than Harris's snide comments ever could.

The boy turned back to his desk, and a moment later, he flipped a piece of paper over to me. I caught it in mid-air. _Thought you could use a change of scenery._ I held my breath and crushed the piece of paper in my hand, dropping it onto my desk like it was bound to combust. _Cute_. I didn't look back at the boy, who was the quarter back of the football team, I now realized. Burying my hands under my legs, I tried to control myself. Luckily my hands were out of sight, because instead of having my usual ragged fingernails, they were tipped with sharp, lethal claws.

When the bell rang, I bolted out of Harris's class as quickly as I could. I kept my head ducked low, hiding yet again behind my hair. I wanted nothing more than to disappear at this point. I had wanted that for the past year, ever since I had returned. I knew it wasn't smart for me to linger here, in the place where anyone could recognize me, but as soon as I heard of my sister's death, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Moving into the small apartment on Jenner Street had been my best bet for avoiding the woods, and though I lived there alone, it was a peaceful sort of place. Sometimes it was hard for me to remember I was in Beacon Hills again. I tried my very best to imagine that I was still living with my adoptive mother Ophelia and her two daughters, Viviane and Tabitha. I tried to imagine that I wasn't living in the town that was the source of all my nightmares.

"Hey!" A voice rose over the din of the hallway. I ignored it and continued walking, my purple floral print dress swishing as I picked up the pace. I was only a few feet away from my locker when the voice shouted, "Hey, wait! Wait up!" I closed my eyes and stopped, wishing that my life didn't suck so badly. Then I turned on heel and faced the nervously grinning boy behind me.

Stiles Stilinski's eyes were bright with intrigue, but I could do nothing but frown.

"I didn't take your seat," I told him, exasperation leaking into my voice.

"Oh! Oh, no, I know!" he said, easing up beside me as I began to walk again. "Harris is just a dick, that's all." I dropped my books on the ground with a thump and began to work the combination of my lock. Stiles stood behind me, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "I didn't come to accuse you or anything, um, I-actually, you left your cardigan in my seat? I mean, in the seat you were sitting at. That was actually my seat." Grabbing my AP English book, I closed my locker with a slam, turning just in time to see Stiles halt his babbling to wince.

He held out my cardigan tentatively, almost like he was offering food to a wild animal. I nearly snorted at the thought—if only he knew. "Oh, uh—thanks."

Stiles's grin was a million watts. "No problem! Thought you might want it back, in case, you know, you got cold or something…"

I gave the Stilinski boy a polite, uncomfortable smile, my eyes wandering down the hall. "So you don't think I moved desks, huh?"

Stiles gave me a funny look. "Nah. Besides, who the hell wants to sit in the front of the class? It's not my first pick, but Harris hates me, so there you go." He leaned up against the lockers and gave me a long look. "I'm Stiles, by the way." I figured it would be creepy to tell him I already knew who he was, so I just nodded. When I didn't offer my name, he raised his eyebrows and bit his lip. "And you are…?" he prompted.

I sighed and readjusted my books. "About to be late," I said, stepping around him. He gave me that goofy grin of his and scoffed, "If you're going to Ms. Anders room, she doesn't take role until halfway through class. You've got some time."

His eyes were still shining, almost pleading, so I said grudgingly, "My name is Seraphina Sinclair." My adoptive mother's last name didn't feel right on my lips, but I couldn't murmur my real last. Especially not to this boy, who already knew secrets that endangered his life daily.

For someone who knew so much, Stiles seemed curiously lighthearted. I brushed that thought away when he replied, "That's a cool name. It's probably derived from seraphim, you know." His face turned pink as I gazed at him in confusion. "You know, it's a type of…? Ah, never mind." I shook my head and pushed a lock of dark hair behind my ear.

"Listen, this has been nice and all, but I really have to get to class…"

Stiles stepped in front of me, blocking my path. I stared up at him in frustration. "Hold on a sec- are you…are you new here?"

"No," I replied bluntly, tired of this charade. Stiles had given me back my cardigan; our seats had been switched. I didn't understand why he was so interested in me—it wasn't like we were friends or anything. I felt a pang in my chest as I imagined what it would be like to have this smiling, goofy boy as a friend. As quickly as the thought appeared, I dismissed it. Having friends wasn't possible for me. I wouldn't bring them into the mess that was my life, or at least, had been my life at one time. Stiles was tempting, though—he already knew things about my world. But, I reminded myself fiercely, he was connected to the one person that could reveal my true identity. And I couldn't have that.

"You're not new here? I've never seen you before." Stiles's face was scrunched up in confusion.

"I tend to keep to myself. I moved here last year," I replied tartly.

Stiles gave me a stilted, unconvinced nod. "Huh. Well, uh—you're welcome to sit with my friends and I at lunch, if you ever need a place to eat. We… mostly keep to ourselves, too."

I nearly burst into laughter when he said that. I couldn't imagine Stiles or any of his friends keeping to themselves, especially now that they associated with _werewolves_ …

That thought made everything in my mind close down. It had taken me forever to say that word again, and sometimes it slipped into my thoughts when I least expected it. Even though I was a werewolf, the word gave a whole new meaning to the thing I was trying to hide. After successfully masking my scent from all the others, I didn't want _one stupid word_ to ruin the defense Ophelia had worked so hard to help me create.

Stiles must have sensed my tension, because he back-pedaled quickly: "I'm not saying you have to or anything. I was just offering because I didn't know if you sat by yourself or…" He trailed off, grimacing. "Not that I think that you're alone all the time or something! I just meant-"

"Thanks for the offer," I said, cutting off Stiles's rambling. "I'll keep it in mind." And without a second glance, I swept into Ms. Anders classroom, leaving Stiles standing alone in the hallway as the tardy bell trilled. I felt the sharp taste of his disappointment on my tongue as I sat down.

It killed me to be so harsh to him when he was being nothing but nice, but I couldn't let him, or any one of his friends, for that matter, get close to me. Scott McCall's pack was already in enough danger as it was, if the rumors I'd been hearing were true. An Alpha pack was lurking in the shadows, waiting for a perfect moment to strike. And I knew that if I got pulled into this mess, they wouldn't just use me against Scott—they would use me against my brother.

I had to remain in solitude.

I flipped open my AP book as Ms. Anders had instructed, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw a vaguely familiar face. My eyes locked on the girl immediately, and my pulse thrummed a warning in my ears. Like Stiles, I had only seen the girl from a distance, but I knew almost every contour of her face—the strong jaw, the pale skin, the thin lips and small nose. It matched another face, a face that I saw almost every night in my nightmares. The only difference was the girl's hair and eye color, but it didn't matter. It felt like I was staring at a ghost. I squeezed my eyes shut, not wanting to look at Allison Argent a second longer than I had to.

Shivers ran up my spine as screams from the past echoed through my head. The niece of my family's murderer was sitting right beside me.


	3. Chapter 3

_I tear myself open, I sew myself shut_

 _My weakness is that I care too much;_

 _And our scars remind us that the past is real-_

 _I tear myself open just to feel._

 _-Scars, by Papa Roach_

 **Chapter 2: Scars**

Lunch was hell. I was beginning to think that I must have been someone really awful in a past life-a serial killer, maybe- because karma seemed, as always, like it was out to get me.

After leaving Ms. Anders' room, I headed straight for my locker, grabbed my lunch box, and hustled to the cafeteria. I didn't want to risk Stiles seeing me- I knew he would only ask questions that I didn't want to answer. I ducked into the cafeteria, determined to be invisible. I had been fine last year; no one had bothered me, save a few kind girls who had tried to befriend me on my first day. Now it seemed like a had a giant sign pinned on my forehead that said: "Hey, look at me! I'm a freak, everybody!" Sighing, I let my hair fall in front of my face like I always did, blocking out the world. The only problem with letting my hair hang in front of eyes was that I couldn't actually _see_ the world.

Pain lanced through my hip as I careened into the nearest lunch table. I nearly fell over from the force of the collision, stumbling back to gather my bearings. There were several loud protests as milk cartons and water bottles tipped over, spilling their contents all over their respective owners. I stared, wide-eyed, at the head of the table. My heart immediately sank when I caught a glimpse of her sleek black hair, blue eyes, and upturned nose. The girl's tray of spaghetti was splattered all over the front of my dress.

I was mortified. I bit back a groan as I peeled wet noodles and sauce from my dress, my hands shaking hard. I had ruined Danae Welsh's lunch. Danae Welsh, the star of the dance team and the show choir, a senior who lived and breathed gossip. Though she put on a façade for the teachers, the student body knew the truth—Danae was viciously mean to anyone who got in her way.

She stared up at me in disbelief, glossy lips parting without a sound _._ Swallowing hard, I took a step back, and then another. I was not afraid of this human girl- she was weak and petty, and I could easily tear her throat out if I wanted to.

I _was_ afraid, however, of the attention our little incident was receiving.

A hush had fallen over the cafeteria. All eyes were trained on us; I could feel my face light up like a Christmas tree. Danae's surprise faded almost as soon as it appeared, replaced easily by a look of disgust. "What the hell? Watch where you're going, bitch."

I couldn't find my voice for a moment. Then I said weakly, "I'm sorry. I didn't see-" I could taste the girl's derision, and irony tang, so clearly that it blocked out my own anger.

Danae gave me a once over and shook her head. "Obviously not, or you wouldn't be wearing my fucking lunch." I glanced around, wondering where the hell the teachers were. A sea of faces stared back at me, most open-mouthed and laughing. I wanted to pinch myself and wake up from this nightmare. Danae raised her eyebrows. "Are you done yet?"

I felt all the air leave my lungs. The words Danae had spat were meant to sting, and they did, but for a whole different reason than she had intended. I was being dismissed, my apology tossed aside without a second thought. _Nobody wants to hear what you have to say. Nobody wants to hear your excuses._

Humiliation made tears burn in my eyes. Everyone in the cafeteria was murmuring and snickering now, watching the freak in her spaghetti-stained dress flounder for an explanation as to why she was such a spaz. I couldn't take it; I turned around and ran for the nearest door, pushing my way out of the cafeteria.

The tears came as soon as I stepped into the hallway. They sluiced down my cheeks in torrents, making my mascara and eyeliner run down my face. I took deep, shuddering breaths, but I couldn't stop the choked sobs that made my shoulders shake uncontrollably. I stumbled down the hall, thankful that there was no one around. For the first time in a while, I felt utterly helpless. I tried too hard to be nice, to remain polite and unseen. All I had wanted was to find a place that could be relatively safe for me in this town. I squeezed my arms around my torso and sank to the floor with my back up against the cobalt lockers.

I had just wanted to keep an eye on my older brother. After Laura's death, I had made the decision to come back to Beacon Hills. It wasn't a very smart choice; at the time, Kate was still running amok. Now that she was dead, things should have been a lot easier. But Chris Argent and his daughter still lived here, and before the summer had started, I had picked up strange new scents- those of multiple alphas. The idea of an alpha pack being on the loose was alarming, what with all that had happened in the last year. After the kanima incident, the inhabitants of Beacon Hills had been extremely wary, none more so than the werewolf population. Derek and Scott already had enough on their shoulders- I couldn't bear the thought of coming in and flipping their world upside down again. Being a shadow was easier and safer for everyone. I glanced down at my ruined dress and sniffled. _Well, for everyone except for me,_ I thought to myself.

Sometimes I wanted nothing more than to be a human- I would trade all of my abilities just to have a day to be normal. To have a day where I didn't have to worry about Hunters tracking me or stress about blocking my scent from the other wolves in the area. Ophelia had taught me a Masking charm when I told her that I was going back home, but she had warned me that it might fade if I became too emotionally stressed.

I was having a hard time keeping the magical barriers up now; the spell was feeble at best. I gave a miserable sigh and tilted my head back to look at the ceiling.

"Seraphina…?"

I jerked like I had been electrocuted when I heard my name. My eyes fell on the speaker. Stiles was standing a few feet away, looking tentative and a bit angry. "I heard about what happened in there. I had no idea Danae could be that awful, but she really won herself a gold medal today." I said nothing. Stiles watched me carefully. I couldn't help but feel self-conscious under his gaze. I knew my face was a mess, but I still tried to hastily wipe tears away as they fell. Stiles eased up beside of me, cautious and anxious all at once. His emotions hit me hard- I felt myself gasping at the overload of feeling. Stiles winced when he saw my stained dress sticking to my frail frame. "Oh, man, you really are a mess, huh?"

I glared at Stiles

Stiles gave me a sheepish look. "Sorry, I didn't mean…I was sorta in the bathroom when that series of unfortunate events went down. I missed Danae's passive-aggressive attack. You know, the thing she does because she has low self-esteem and impulse-control issues?"

I was speechless. Stiles's words made a laugh bubble up out of me, my anger momentarily forgotten. The laugh was a hysterical little thing, so pitiful that it could have been counted as a sob, but I hadn't laughed in so long that it didn't really matter. What mattered was that there was a boy talking to me, and he was kind and funny and a little bit odd. He cared enough to check on me, even though we had just met a few hours before and I had been less than friendly at the time.

Stiles squatted down in front of me, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. It seemed out of place on his normally grinning face. His caramel eyes were warm and sympathetic. "You can't wear that the rest of the day," he told me, nodding to my ruined dress.

My eyebrows furrowed, and I instantly tensed again. "What do you mean, I can't wear this the rest of the day? It's not like I brought any extra clothes with me."

Stiles sighed, running a restless hand through his dark hair. "I'm just saying, you shouldn't walk around like that for the rest of the day. If you want, you could just go home and change…"

"No!" I exclaimed. Stiles stared at me, alarmed. I cleared my throat and said, much more quietly, "No, I don't think so. That would be like letting her win."

Stiles nodded like he completely understood where I was coming from. "Okay." He hesitated for a moment, and then said in a rush: "What if you could—could where something else instead?"

"What?" My voice was still hoarse from crying.

"What if you could wear something else?" he asked, a bit more slowly.

I gave him a wary look. "Like what?"

Stiles's face flushed. "Well. Uh. I play on the school lacrosse team, y'know, and we have a locker room…" I stared at him, not sure where this was going. "I have a locker, and I keep extra clothes in there for practice. And you can borrow them, if you want to," he ended in a rush. Halfway through Stiles's babble, I realized what he was suggesting. I probably should have been embarrassed, but I didn't even argue or make an excuse. I didn't even try to hide how relieved I was.

Instead, I pushed myself to my feet and began to walk down the hallway. I paused outside of the boys' locker room and turned back to look at Stiles. He was still on his knees by my locker, staring at me in stunned silence. "C'mon. You have to show me which one is yours," I sighed. Stiles scrambled to his feet and gave me a grin as he approached.

"Awesome! I mean…um, yeah, I'll show you! Of course."

I rolled my eyes and stifled a laugh. Something about Stiles made it hard to _stop_ smiling. Though Stiles let me enter the locker room first, he led the way when we stepped into the room. The smell of sweat and dust assaulted my nose almost immediately. I made an awful face and sneezed, trying to dispel the disgusting scent.

Stiles wandered to the back, gazing at locker numbers as he passed. When he came to his, he flung it open and began to rummage around, searching aimlessly. I walked over to one of the dirty mirrors and gazed into it while I waited. My face was just as bad as I feared; I winced as I took in my makeup-smeared cheeks and bloodshot green eyes. "Shit," I muttered, ripping a paper towel from the roll and scrubbing my face with it. After I wiped my face clean, I turned to look at Stiles.

He had a T-shirt and a pair of black basketball shorts in his outstretched hands. I gave him a tentative but grateful smile. "Thank you," I told him, eagerly taking the outfit. I set the shorts on a nearby bench and unzipped my dress in a hurry, relieved to be shedding the stained fabric. I slipped the straps off my shoulders unthinkingly, and I was about to pull the whole dress down when I realized, in complete horror, that Stiles was still standing beside me. I had been so distracted that I hadn't even thought to make him turn around, or even to warn him that I was about to strip down.

Shocked, our eyes met. I immediately covered my chest with my arms, though the only thing visible was my lacy black bra. My cheeks flared red. I was so used to being immodest around my surrogate family that I hadn't even thought twice about taking off my soiled dress in front of _a boy I had just met._

Stiles was studiously trying not to look at me, his mouth opening and closing aimlessly as he searched for words. I knew that he had seen my scar—his face had gone from crimson to a ghostly white in a matter of seconds.

It was an ugly, puckered thing, my scar—colored white by age and stretching up my left side from my hip to just under my first rib. Six years hadn't done much to help its case, but I had wanted it that way. I had refused to let the burn heal the night of the fire, forcing myself to go through the agony of letting it heal naturally. It seemed like an appropriate punishment, and an even better reminder. My scar was proof that I had survived something terrible, but it also reminded me that my survival was nothing compared to the deaths of the ones I loved. It reminded me that I was only mortal, no matter what abilities I had or what happened to me on the full moon. It reminded me that my family's death was something that I could never, ever forget.

Stiles's reaction to my scar was what snapped me out of my thoughts. "Well, turn around!" I exclaimed, my voice rising an octave.

Stiles did as I asked, muttering an embarrassed apology under his breath. I would have been angry at him if the tips of his ears hadn't flushed adorably red, or if he hadn't covered his eyes with both hands, oddly resembling a child playing hide-and-seek. There was a warm feeling in my stomach as I breathed in Stiles's emotions: he was awed by me, and not even the least bit disgusted. Curiosity danced across my tongue; Stiles was wondering about my scar, but he smartly kept his questions to himself. I decided I admired him for that.

I slipped on Stiles's shirt and tugged off my dress the rest of the way, then pulled on the basketball shorts as quickly as I could. I tightened the drawstring, marveling on how good the silky fabric felt against my legs. Stiles's T-shirt was dark gray and had _Beacon Hills Lacrosse_ printed across the front of it, and it reeked of him. Not really in a bad way—it just thoroughly smelled like musk and spice and mint, something that was uniquely Stiles. I held the fabric of it tightly in my hands, unaware of the stupid smile that had slowly formed on my face.

"There." I said loudly, clearing my throat. "You can open your eyes now."

Stiles whirled around, his sheepish smile melting away in favor of a dimpled grin. It amazed me how easily he bounced back from things—embarrassment or sadness were pushed away almost instantly after they appeared. I knew he harbored deeper, darker feelings, but they were harder to reach than surface emotions, tangled in the inner depths of his mind. Stiles's witty exterior, however, was refreshing.

"Well," he said, tapping his chin with a long index finger, his smile only growing, "I think that outfit looks better on you than it ever did on me. I should probably be jealous, but seeing a girl in my clothes is painfully distracting."

I gave a snorting laugh, then froze, blinking hard. What was this boy doing to me? I had only known him a few hours and he had already made me let my guard down, something my adoptive family couldn't do for _years._ Being around Stiles was easy, and it made me feel…free, almost. I wanted more of that feeling, as selfish as it was. I wanted a friend who could make me laugh and let me forget myself, even for just a little while.

So when Stiles said, with a smile that was a little less like a smirk and a little more sweet: "We have lacrosse practice after school today. If you want to come, I could introduce you to some of my friends," there was a small silence, a pause where I considered. It would be dangerous, and I would risk everything by meeting the rest of Scott's pack. But then I looked at Stiles, who was staring at me with bright, hopeful eyes, and none of that mattered.

"Sure," I said, letting myself give him a warm, genuine smile. "I think I would like that."

I slipped on my sandals and grabbed my dress, heading toward the door. I paused in the doorway, wanting to say something but not able to find the words. I kept walking after a moment—there was nothing I could say to Stiles to express how happy I was that he had befriended me.

I had spent the last year pretending like I didn't exist and watching my back at every turn. I had spent the last _six_ years feeling guilty for my survival and wishing to have my family back. And I had spent my entire lifetime feeling like I didn't belong.

But as I opened my locker and retrieved my books for the end of the day, I couldn't help but to think that things were changing, for better or worse. Something in me was waking up, and my scars, mental and physical, were beginning to ache in anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally be Seraphina Sinclair.

Because being Seraphina Hale just hurt too much.


	4. Chapter 4

_The stars shine down from the black_

 _And we're picking through broken glass_

 _Well, how could we know our lives would be so_

 _Full of beautifully broken things._

 _-Broken Things, by Dave Matthews Band_

 **Chapter 3: Broken Things**

Compared to the measly, ragged football field, the lacrosse field was like an arena. I wrapped my arms around myself as I peered up at the bleachers, nervously debating on where to sit. Luckily, there was plenty of options because it was only a practice. A practice I had stupidly agreed to come to watch, even though I had no one to sit with. My isolation had been self-inflicted, but I still ached like someone had scooped out my insides and left me hollow. That's all I was, wasn't I? A hollow, pretty doll with mismatched parts and tangled strings, left discarded because of her grim, forced smile and cold indifference.

I rubbed my arms and walked up the bleachers until I found an inconspicuous spot, then proceeded to plop down. The lacrosse team bantered with each other a few yards away, swinging newly laced sticks and swatting their teammates with their jerseys. Their emotions saturated my tongue like I had just gulped down a bottle of syrup—contentedness nearly overwhelmed me, sending my vision out of focus. By the time my vision finally cleared, most of the boys had given up their game and were lounging on the bottom half of the bleachers, putting on their gear as they recounted their summer.

I let a brief smile come to my lips when I spotted Stiles and his best friend, Scott McCall, sitting a good distance away from the rest of the lacrosse team. Scott was just as he had been for the past year, with prominent muscles corded under his golden brown skin, shorter black hair and scrutinizing cocoa eyes. It was no secret that the boy had a lot more going for him than just his lacrosse abilities. Granted, his good looks and athletic skills had been enhanced by werewolfism, but whatever.

I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees so I could rest my face in my palms. Then I tuned out the background noise and began to eavesdrop on Scott and Stiles's conversation. Scott was waving his hands animatedly, and Stiles was laughing, nearly doubled over. "…and then my mom suggested that I go talk to the girl at the tiki hut, right? The girl making the smoothies? I mean, we were at the beach and all, so I thought, 'why not'? So I walked over to her and we started talking and everything was going good… until I accidentally called her Allison."

Stiles howled with laughter, slapping his best friend on the back. "Oh man," he gasped. "I bet that went over well."

Scott gave a sad laugh and ran his fingers through his thick hair. "Yeah, like a ton of bricks. She probably thought I was the biggest douchebag ever because her name wasn't even close to Allison—it was Lily." Scott leaned forward on the bench, letting his head drop into his hands. "It doesn't matter," he said miserably. "I can't even talk to other girls without thinking about her, Stiles." He looked up, dark eyes full of anguish. "What am I supposed to do?"

Stiles gave Scott a mildly sympathetic look. "Win her back," he said quietly. "That's the only thing you _can_ do, man."

Scott groaned, making several boys nearby give him strange looks. "It would help if she would actually talk to me! She comes to every lacrosse event and completely _ignores_ me!"

Stiles made a face and rolled his eyes. "That's because ever since Jackson moved, Lydia has been dragging her to any and every thing to do with lacrosse. I think Lydia was going through a withdrawal or something…"

I frowned at that. Jackson Whittemore's departure had caused somewhat of an uproar, from what I had heard. Apparently my older brother was less than thrilled to let a new beta out of the designated territory, but I figured that he got over it quickly when he realized several alphas were roaming the area. Derek wasn't the only distraught one—Lydia had changed drastically after Jackson's move. She was still snotty, but it almost seemed like she was following a script—her heart just wasn't really in it anymore. And apparently over the summer, Lydia had barely ever left Allison's side, too afraid of the knowledge she now carried with her. I couldn't blame the poor girl—finding out your boyfriend was a creature of the night had to be hard for anyone.

It was true that Jackson moving was a shock to everyone, including me, and I didn't even know the guy. He had always been a big part of the school, and without him, something in the air had shifted. But who could fault his parents for wanting to get far, far away from the location where several grisly murders had taken place? Unfortunately for them, they didn't know that Jackson was the source of most of those problems. Their son, former kanima and now werewolf, had been saved by Lydia's love. When Jackson's parents told him they were moving, he didn't fight. Surprisingly, he agreed with them. Maybe he didn't want to stay in a place of such horrid memories, or maybe he believed leaving was in Lydia's best interest—I had no way of knowing. I only knew that Jackson Whittemore was gone, and that he wasn't coming back.

I was startled when the bleachers shook. Looking across the aisle, I saw the immunity herself: Lydia Martin. She was wearing a frilly pink skirt with a matching cardigan, a pair of white wedges strapped onto her feet and a string of pearls wound snugly around her neck. She flipped her strawberry-blonde hair over her shoulder and cast a haughty look around the bleachers. Allison Argent followed, looking slightly weary. She wasn't as dressed up as Lydia—she wore jeans, a simple cream top with a jean jacket layered over it, and a pair of brown ankle-length boots.

The girls sat down a few feet away from me, quietly talking as they watched the boys get ready. Loneliness consumed me for a moment, but it was quickly erased when Stiles came bounding up the steps. He grinned at me, struggling to sit down with all his gear on. "Hey, seat-stealer."

I sighed and shook my head, a small smile twisting my lips. "What, did you forget my name already?"

Stiles frowned and said, "Sophie, right?"

I gaped at him, suddenly indignant.

Stiles saw my expression and burst into laughter. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" He bumped his shoulder against mine, sending tingles up my arm. His gaze met mine before nervously bouncing away. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

I opened my mouth to retort, but another voice cut me off.

"Who are you?"

I glanced over, bewildered. Lydia was standing next to me, a suspicious look on her face.

Allison Argent stood behind her, curiously examining me. I felt overwhelmed, trapped even, but I gave a weak smile and wiggled my fingers in their direction. Interacting with people had never been my strong suit, yet sitting here in front of a Hunter and a demanding human, I felt more out of place than ever before. "Hi," I said, my voice calmer than I expected it to be. "I'm Seraphina."

Allison gave a slow nod. "Oh—yeah! We have AP English together."

Lydia arched a perfectly waxed eyebrow. " _Another_ new girl? They're coming to Beacon Hills in hordes now." Lydia eyed my outfit in distaste. "I'm Lydia Martin, by the way." She paused, and then said as almost an afterthought: "Oh, and this is Allison Argent, my best friend." Allison's dimpled smile was tentative and friendly, but just looking at the girl made me uncomfortable.

Before anyone could say anything else, Scott came up the steps, barely giving the girls and I a second glance. His eyes were locked on Stiles, but I could tell he was trying especially hard not to look at Allison. "Stiles, Coach wants us out on the field in five minutes."

Stiles moaned and muttered, "Of course he does…"

Scott finally noticed the strange new person sitting beside his best friend. He immediately bristled; I didn't blame him, but his scrutiny made me more than a little nervous. I took a deep breath and willed my scent to be blocked, chanting the mantra Ophelia taught me so my aura would resemble a human's. Scott relaxed a bit and gave me a crooked smile after a moment. "Hey, I'm Scott." He held out a hand. I barely hesitated, leaning over Stiles to shake it. "Are you new here?" Scott asked, eyebrows furrowing. I could taste his confusion; it was a muddled thing, tasting both sour and sweet at the same time.

I shook my head, but before I could reply, Stiles piped up: "Nah, she's not new. She's just got a good way of hiding from everyone."

I flushed at his words, and then said, "I moved here last year, actually. The week after Allison came, I think." Everyone stared at me in an embarrassed, awkward silence. They felt bad that they hadn't noticed me before, but in all honesty, that fact relieved me. I hadn't ever had any classes with them, so it was understandable that they hadn't realized I existed. Keeping myself away from the McCall pack had been my goal for quite a while; this interaction felt as though I was flaunting my existence to the world.

Scott gave me an odd, thoughtful look. "Ah, okay. I guess that explains why you look so familiar."

My heart nearly stopped pounding. I wished I could charm away his interest in me like I could charm away my scent, but it wasn't possible. The only thing I could do was hope and pray that Scott didn't suggest that I looked somewhat similar to a broody alpha he knew. My chest tightened at the very thought of Derek finding out that I was here. _Alive._

"Must be," I muttered, directing my gaze elsewhere. I bounced my leg, a nervous habit that I had developed while I was in foster care.

"What brought you to Beacon Hills?" My head snapped up, and I locked eyes with Allison. "Did your parents get a job nearby or something?" Her voice was quiet and polite, almost a little embarrassed by how direct her questions sounded. I processed what she said for a moment.

"No," I answered, throat closing at the mention of my parents. In a flash, I saw my father laughing, his yellow-green eyes full of mirth. My mother's lullabies echoed eerily through my head. "I lived here when I was small." There was an uncomfortable pause. "I'm emancipated, actually. I used to live with my adoptive mom but… I decided it was time to come back home."

That wasn't a lie. I had wanted to be closer to my brother, no matter the risk. I had grown up considerably in the past six years, and I wanted to be near Derek after Laura's brutal murder, even if he didn't know I was here. Maybe I was being selfish and trying to console myself with his presence. I wasn't really sure. All I knew was that it was best to stay out of the way—I believed that Derek had finally started to move on from the deaths.

Laura's death had hit me especially hard, tugging at the very fibers of my being. My older sister had always seemed so invincible, but her death had proved that no one was immortal, not even the beautiful and deadly. I had thought Laura and Derek would be safe if I were gone—I thought Kate would come after me and leave them alone. But in the end, it wasn't the Hunter who had murdered my sister—it was my own blood, a member of my own pack: my uncle Peter. The shock had nearly destroyed me. I was in a murderous rage, but I had to remind myself that I couldn't be seen. Seraphina Hale no longer existed. She was just a memory, a figment of the mind.

And figments of the mind couldn't brutally murder their uncles, even if they wanted to.

Apparently Stiles didn't like the drawn-out silence I had brought upon myself, so he turned to his friends and said, giving me a look out of the corner of his eye: "Seraphina is going to be sitting with us at lunch tomorrow." There wasn't even time for me to argue, and if I would have attempted to, I would have come off as rude. Another forced smile came to my lips.

"If that's okay with everyone," I added.

Scott and Allison nodded in compliance, and Lydia gave me another once-over and said evenly, "There'll be plenty of room since Allison and I won't be eating there anymore."

Allison turned to Lydia, looking surprised. "We're not?"

Lydia shot the Hunter girl a warning look and gave a small shake of her head.

Allison sighed and grumbled, "Nope, apparently not."

Scott's face fell at the mention of the girls sitting at a different table. I couldn't help but feel bad for the poor boy—break-ups had to be hard, especially if your ex turned out to be a Hunter who could kill you at any given moment.

I was relieved that Scott had accepted me into his circle, but I was a bit mortified that Stiles had broached a subject that was obviously still sore. Babysitting the McCall pack wouldn't be so bad if I could keep my identity secret. Derek would probably be grateful that I was watching them if he knew that I was alive and well. _Then again,_ I thought sadly, _I don't really know Derek anymore, do I?_

"It's settled then," Stiles announced with a grin, slamming his hand down on the bleachers. The sound reverberated, making me grit my teeth to keep from wincing. Obviously, only Scott and I were bothered, because he elbowed Stiles in the ribs and gave him a pained look.

Unfortunately, Scott wasn't distracted long enough to remain oblivious to what I was wearing. "Hey, are those Stiles's gym clothes?" he blurted.

I was beginning to wonder if my day could get any worse. I was struck speechless. My cheeks flamed a bright, unattractive red. I cursed my pale skin, which was an unfortunate result of staying inside all summer. If I was my normal tanned self, my blush wouldn't show so easily.

But luckily, Stiles decided to save my ass yet again. "Yeah, they're mine. I let her borrow them after her run-in with Danae during lunch."

Lydia's emerald green eyes locked on me like a heat-seeking missile. "Oh, so _you're_ the one who dumped Danae's tray?" I winced, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Couldn't really see who you were from our table. That's lucky for you, I guess." Lydia pursed her lips. "For a second, I thought you had _voluntarily_ wore that to school." She waved her hand at my outfit like I was carrying the plague.

"Lydia!" Allison hissed. Lydia cocked an eyebrow but said nothing else, seemingly satisfied. Allison sent me an apologetic look, and even Stiles seemed pained. I brushed off Lydia's musings, knowing that her blunt words were nothing that I could change _._

"I was just lucky that Stiles had extra clothes for me to wear," I sighed, tucking my hands under my thighs. I turned my gaze on the Stilinski boy, lashes low over my eyes. "I really do appreciate it."

Stiles cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, pink dusting his cheeks. "Totally not a problem. You know, not at all."

The others stared between us in confusion until Lydia finally huffed: "Come on, Allison. We're going to the concession stand." She grabbed the dark haired girl's arm and yanked her down the bleachers, impossibly high heels clicking all the way.

Scott's smile was an apology in itself. "Sorry about that. Lydia can be…well, she's Lydia. And she's still kinda upset that Jackson's gone."

I nodded but said nothing, letting my chin rest on an open palm. It was so weird to be sitting here, conversing with a jittery human and a love-sick werewolf. My life had changed course in just a matter of hours—and unsurprisingly, it was all thanks to the McCall pack.

Scott bit his lip and stared at Stiles, whose eyes were locked on Lydia as she flounced over to the concession stand with Allison in tow. "Stiles, this summer you said you were going to move on from Lydia. You said you were going to keep all of your options open."

Stiles slipped his helmet on, but I could still see his frown. "We both said we were moving on, Scott. But if I get an opportunity, you'd better believe that I'm going to take it." Stiles's tapped his fingers restlessly on the bleachers as he leaned closer to his best friend. "And you're still hung up on Allison—you even admitted it. Don't tell me you wouldn't get back together with her in a heartbeat if you could."

Scott muttered his assent, making me smirk.

"Bad break-up?" I asked him, pretending to be oblivious.

Scott clenched a fist, pressing his knuckles against his temple. His dark eyes wandered over to where Allison stood at the concession stand. "Something like that," he said under his breath.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle blast sounded through the air. Scott cringed, slapping his hands over his ears. I fought the urge to do the same, biting my tongue so hard I tasted blood. Scott was so _obvious_ ; if I acted like him, everyone would know there was something strange about me in a matter of seconds. I gave Stiles an innocent, questioning look, wanting to hear the excuse he came up with. He bit his bottom lip. "Uh, _really_ sensitive ears," he told me lamely, patting Scott's shoulder. Both boys gave me unconvincing smiles.

It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. _Oh, boy. Yep, they're definitely new at this. They practically scream 'suspicious'…_

"McCall! Stilinski! I don't know if you heard the whistle or not, but last time I checked, it meant get your _asses down on the field!"_ I stared at the wild-haired man that I knew to be Coach Finstock. He looked livid from his spot at the bottom of the bleachers. Scott and Stiles scrambled to their feet, shooting me embarrassed looks as they made their way toward their snickering teammates. Stiles glanced back last second.

"Hey, Seraphina, I didn't even ask—do you have a ride home after practice?"

I stared at him in surprise. "Oh, no… I usually just walk."

Stiles stared at me like I had just admitted that I enjoyed streaking through public areas. "Walk? But it'll be dark by then!" he yelped.

A laugh forced itself out of mouth. "I'm tougher than I look," I teased. "I'm not afraid of the dark, Stiles."

The boy's face had paled considerably. "It's not the dark that you should be afraid of. Didn't you hear about the…"

"Murders?" I provided. My heart hammered in my chest. "Yeah, but didn't the guy who committed those drown or something?"

Stiles looked like he wanted to be sick. "He did," he confirmed, voice hoarse. "But still, I'm giving Scott a ride, and I'd feel much better if you would let me take you home, too." There was an urgency in his voice that made a fire ignite in my stomach. Stiles wanted to protect me, even though we had just met. He felt compelled to look out for people, a quality that made him admirable. I could see why he and Scott were such good friends—they both were protectors, in their own sort of way.

I didn't know everything that had happened to Stiles in this past year, but I could tell the images of Gerard, the kanima, and werewolves plagued his nightmares as well as his everyday life. There was a haunted look in his eyes just then, a look of a person who had seen too much of this world and who didn't want anyone else to experience what he was experiencing. My heart ached for this boy who smiled, laughed, and pretended like he was alright. I almost wanted to cry—to cry for innocence lost, to cry for all the secrets that shrouded who I really was. I could never tell Stiles that I knew his pain.

But maybe, I could try to lessen the pain for the both of us.

"Sure," I said finally, surprising Stiles and myself. "A ride would be nice. After all," I snorted, "apparently I'm offending the general public with my fashion choices."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, obviously amused.

"The way Lydia was looking at me… I might as well have taken these from a Dumpster."

Stiles's smile fell a bit. "Don't let her get to you. I scavenge in only the finest garbage cans of Beacon Hills."

I laughed. Stiles's wit made it hard not to. Being around him made me feel at ease, but I had an awful feeling that it wouldn't last if I got too comfortable.

"Don't worry about me—I've heard enough about Lydia to not really take it to heart."

And there it was—that grin again. "Good to know."

Stiles and I jumped as another whistle blast pierced the air. "Stilinski! What part of 'ass on the field' do you not understand?! I'm not speaking Greek, am I? No? Good! Get down here _now_ before I give your position to Greenberg!"

Stiles winced and mumbled, "Ah, Coach, not Greenberg…" Then he ran down the metal stairs so he could take his place on the field.

Lydia and Allison narrowly missed him on their way back up the steps, their arms laden with popcorn and huge fountain drinks."

I raised an eyebrow as they settled into their seats beside me. "I didn't think there would concessions during practices. Do they always have them?"

Lydia waved away my question like it was the stupidest thing she had ever heard. " _Everyone_ goes to these practices. It's not like we're the sucky football team or something. And plus, the band geeks have to make money somehow."

I nodded politely, not trusting myself to speak.

"When do they announce who has what position?" Allison asked casually, looking at Lydia out of the corner of her eye.

Lydia pursed her full pink lips. "Sometime soon, I think." She gave Allison a knowing look. "Why? Interested to know if your ex made team captain?"

Color flooded into Allison's pale cheeks, instantly giving her away.

Lydia tilted her chin up, haughty expression trained on her friend. "Finstock won't let him play in an actual game unless he can keep his grades up, you know. If Jackson were here, _he_ would still be team—"

" _If_ ," Allison said, her voice deathly quiet. I saw something dangerous flash in her normally bright eyes. " _If_ Jackson were still here. But he's not."

Lydia didn't answer, but I saw her bottom lip quiver ever so slightly.

"What position does Stiles normally play?" I asked, subtly trying to diffuse the tension.

"Normally, he has a nice spot on the bench. But toward the end of the last season, he did an okay job," Lydia told me, her eyes never leaving the field. Her voice wavered just a bit. Allison's comment about Jackson must have hit her harder than I thought.

"Stiles is pushing for co-captain," Allison informed me with a smile. It was like she hadn't even snapped at Lydia. I couldn't return the gesture. I saw blonde hair and wickedly cunning eyes when I looked at her; I saw Kate giving me smile laced with betrayal.

A shudder ran through the length of my body. "Oh," I croaked weakly, wrapping my arms around myself. "That's pretty awesome."

Allison nodded and offered me some popcorn. I took a handful to be polite, murmuring a quiet thanks. Turning my attention back to the scrimmage, I couldn't help but be surprised to see Stiles agilely slipping through throngs of boys, weaving with impressive skill. Allison said something about Scott helping him practice over the summer, but I barely heard her. I was too mesmerized by Stiles's performance to fully understand what she said. I watched as the Stilinski boy ducked and dived, marveled as he made goal after goal. There was something intriguing about watching him play. Humans were slower than werewolves and didn't have the stamina that we did, but they pushed themselves at times when people like me didn't have to. They had to _work_ for what they wanted, and _train_ to be better. Stiles was a perfect example of a hard-working, dedicated human.

Even when he passed a second too long, eyes darting up to look at Allison, Lydia, and I sitting in the bleachers. Even when a small, crooked smile found its way to his lips as he watched us stare at him in amazement. Even when he was slammed into the ground, ball stolen after that second-too-long pause.

Even then.

Because Stiles stood for something that made a difference. I had watched the McCall pack from a distance for a year, but only Stiles had really stood out to me. I had wondered what made him different, and now I finally had the answer—it became clear as he forced himself up off the ground, teeth gritted, a determined light in his eyes. He was resilient in a way that put me to shame. Werewolves survived and thrived because we _had_ to; it was in our nature. But humans—Stiles, in particular—survived because something in them, in _him_ , wished to be better, _wished_ to survive.

Humans endured, even when it wasn't easy.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Thanks for the ride."

I grabbed my bag from the backseat of Stiles's Jeep, pulling it into my lap with ease. After lacrosse practice, Stiles had followed through with his offer, letting both Scott and I jump into the Jeep. "No complaining," he had told me with a grin. "My driving skills are to die for."

Scott had snorted from his spot in the passenger seat. "Nice choice of words, Stiles. Really comforting."

Truthfully, Stiles wasn't a bad driver. He had dropped Scott off at his house without issue, and he had made it to my apartment complex without wrecking into anything, so I took that as a good sign.

"No problem," Stiles said absently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in front of him. His eyes were locked on my tiny, cheap apartment building. I immediately felt self-conscious—the place was nice enough on the inside, but Ophelia had only given me access to a very small portion of the Hale family fortune. My account should have been closed after my supposed death, but Ophelia had somehow managed to keep a part of the money under my name. I didn't know how; magic had always made me nervous, so I didn't tend to ask Ophelia many questions about it.

"So… emancipated means you live by yourself, right?"

I tensed immediately. I didn't want our conversation to stray into dark, inaccessible territory. I didn't want to lie to Stiles if I didn't actually have to. He had shown me kindness when no one else did, and I owed him for that. But I couldn't talk about my past—it simply wasn't an option. "Yes, I live by myself."

Stiles cleared his throat. "Sorry, I—I wasn't trying to pry or anything. I just thought…" Stiles turned his gaze on me. His caramel eyes softened when he took in my guarded expression and rigid posture. "That just seems so…lonely."

I tightened my grip on my messenger bag. I wanted to snap at him and tell him that it was none of his business, but I didn't. It was like… It was almost as if Stiles could see right through me. Because behind my quiet exterior, a lonely girl was who I was on the inside.

I had always been lonely, even when I was a child. Something about me had set me apart from everyone else, even my family, and it tore at my heart to think that Stiles could read me so easily. I could hide behind lies all I wanted, but some people, like this boy, wouldn't be fooled by any mask.

Tears burned behind my eyes. I hadn't cried for months, but today had been a whirlwind of emotion and I'd had to make an exception. I couldn't even look at Stiles. I was too embarrassed by my weakness. When I finally found my voice, I replied: "It is lonely. But some things can't be changed. And no matter what I want to believe, Beacon Hills will always be my home."

I pushed open the door, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "Thanks again for the ride. Goodnight, Stiles." I gathered my dark hair in my hands and ran my fingers through the knotted curls. Before I could jump out of the Jeep, Stiles's hand latched onto my arm. My green eyes widened, and I looked over at him. This close, I could see the hazel flecks in his eyes, the freckles on his neck and face, the pulse pumping rapidly in his throat.

Stiles's sympathy tasted rich in my mouth.

He looked at me, _really_ looked at me. His expression was serious once again. Where was the joking boy I had met this morning? This Stiles was… unnerving. "Being lonely…" Stiles's gaze was nervous again, but sincere. "It's not an easy thing. And—and I just want to tell you that you don't have to be alone anymore if you, uh…If you don't want to be, Sera."

I bit my lip and closed my eyes for a second. Stiles's words were disorienting—he had called me Sera, Derek's nickname for me when I was little. And he had offered to be my friend, even though I was awkward and shy and sometimes brutally blunt.

Stiles withdrew his hand from my arm when my eyes opened. What an odd, broken thing this boy was. Odd and broken enough to care about someone like me. "Thank you," I breathed," my words softened by his kindness. I eased myself out of the Jeep and gave Stiles a tiny smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Stiles."

Shutting the door carefully, I turned and began to make my way to the apartment building. The late August air was warm and thick against my skin, and full of noises. Stiles's words and his scent of him on the clothes I was wearing distracted me from noticing anything else about the night.

That is, until out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move behind me.

I whirled around, my eyes flashing their familiar gold in the darkness. The shadow darted behind the dense cover of the trees before I could properly decipher what it was. I cursed under my breath, trying to keep my heart rate down so I wouldn't shift. Another wolf was nearby, maybe even watching me.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to turn on heel and march up the stairs to my apartment. I could barely control my urge to shift—shivers wracked my body from the effort. Curiosity finally made me give up staying inside; I wandered out onto my balcony, eyes scanning the ground below me. There was nothing there, but my lips still pulled back from my teeth in a snarl. Something wasn't right. I could feel it deep inside of me.

Feeling daring, I climbed onto the flimsy metal rail that separated my balcony from the ground. I sat on the cool iron, balancing precariously as I tipped my head back. The moon was large and yellow over my head, its light spilling across my face. The almost-fullness of it, paired with the danger that was lurking somewhere in the woods, waiting for me, made my blood sing.


End file.
